'This Tarantino thug,
Kicking, flicking, obliterating the competition...'
Vincent & Mia sit in the booth of a diner. Their victims unaware of the carnage about to be unleashed. She gets up from her seat and gestures for him to follow her. It is time.
They begin to dance. A lazy twist, swimmers arms. Nothing to see here. And then slowly the attack unfolds.
Synchronised high karate kicks spark the beginning of the bombardment. A two assailant attack coolly and sexily building up to the final firestorm.
Every kick and flick landed like a martial arts move. Spins release a spray of invisible machine gun fire. Take that Andre, George, Foote, whoever you are.
More spins in perfect synchronisation, arms stretched out knocking the hopes of their adversaries down like a fairground attraction.
They slow momentarily, let's do the twist. They see their main target and begin their final assault...blow after blow, their feet slicing through the script writers story board with razor like precision. I visualise metaphorical blood spatter across the glitter covered walls. It's a Blood bath. Competition over.
He smooths his hair back as he lets her drop.
They walk out of the auditorium stepping over the bodies of their now deceased competitors. He is bemused. He didn't know he had it in him. The killer instinct. A hand grabs his leg desperately as they walk by. Not so 'Bright' now are we Kelly. He shakes her off his cheap polyester trousers. 'But it's not supposed to be this way?' She whispers.
As they exit they prise a mysterious looking briefcase from the petrified arms of a still breathing Craig Revel Horwood. Outside in the fresh night air they pause and place it on the ground. Slowly they unlock and open it. What is that golden glow emanating from it? No it's not gold exactly, it's silver, shimmering and reflecting the light. Their eyes are wide with awe and wonder - triumph. At last we all see inside - Is it treasure, gold bullion, diamonds? No, it's.....
the glitterball trophy.😎